March 2007  

Still Life with One Apple    ©    by    Beth Copeland
 

From earliest memory: one apple
in a bowl predating speech, spores

of sunlight floating on air like pollen
from the garden of Hesperides.

In childhood I wanted everything in pairs,
animals entering Noah's ark two by two,

the symmetry of hand in hand,
heart to heart, bride and groom.

I thought the apple needed another apple
or at least the company of an orange or pear,

that the apple was lonely, that everything—
even an apple in a bowl—

had a soul. Was it wrong to believe
the apple could suffer and bleed,

to project my own feelings
onto that fruit?

To believe only a membrane
of matter and speed

separates blood from stone
and bone from apple seed.

To see the apple as a symbol
of the self, the universal soul,

as in Georgia O'Keefe's Green
Apple on Black Plate,

a study in simplicity.
Still Life With An Empty Bowl—

I ate the apple to make it whole.

Previously published in the North Carolina Poetry Society's
Pinesong: Awards 2006. Used with the poet's permission.
NOTICE: The copyright © for this poem belongs to the poet.